


for the rest of my life, for the rest of yours

by SaltyCalm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Needs a Nap, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Established Relationship, Husbands in love, M/M, Shrunkyclunks, Softness, Steve blushes at being called husband because of course he does, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, post-IW, way more softness than smutness you were warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyCalm/pseuds/SaltyCalm
Summary: “Hello, husband,” Bucky coos, and sips at his champagne.Steve wastes no time at all in sliding one thick arm around Bucky’s waist and tugging him closer with his broad palm. His cheeks are tinged pink when he leans down to nuzzle his nose against Bucky’s in a surprising show of intimacy in a public place.Bucky leans in close to Steve’s ear and feels him shiver at the contact. “You wanna get out of here?”They make their goodbyes without moving from each other’s sides. Their entire wedding day has been a blur, and Bucky is ready to get that perfectly tailored suit off of his groom andravishhim into oblivion.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 28
Kudos: 210
Collections: Supersoft Stucky Fics





	for the rest of my life, for the rest of yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fadefilter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadefilter/gifts).



> This is part of a lovely art/fic exchange with [Nabu](https://twitter.com/fadefilter). Thank u for my white t-shirt gold chain Steve and I hope u enjoy this softness.
> 
> Title taken from "Let Me" by ZAYN.
> 
> Big hugs and kisses to [Ellie](https://twitter.com/elliebbarnes), [Cydonic](https://twitter.com/_cydonic), and [Nos](https://twitter.com/nospheratt) for beta'ing, and my ana de army babes for letting me steal all your brain juice.

_ de·vo·tion _

_ /dəˈvōSH(ə)n/ _

_ noun _

_ love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity, or cause. _

Bucky looks over at Steve in the middle of their wedding reception and suddenly realizes he’s barely seen him since the cake cutting several hours ago. The one blur of a first dance doesn’t count. His brand new supersoldier husband is halfway across the room, talking with someone or other. It doesn’t matter and they’ve been here far too long anyways.

Steve looks amazing, as always. A lot has changed since Bucky was a teenager, but thinking that the man beneath the Captain America cowl looks sinfully good is an evergreen thought. The three piece suit he’s wearing is just the right deep, deep shade of navy, and in the erratic lighting of the dance floor his beard looks even darker than normal. The champagne Bucky’s already imbibed thinks it's a great idea to saunter over and get down on his knees right there, where Steve is now shaking hands with someone that Bucky vaguely recognizes as a Wakandan official. 

Maybe he will. It’s his wedding day, isn’t it? He can jump his husband’s bones wherever. That’s definitely in the law somewhere about weddings. He picks up a champagne flute —the fourth one of the night. Or was it five?—on his way over and sidles up to Steve with a smile that aims to be flirtatious but probably just comes out dopey and warm.

“Hello, husband,” he coos, and sips at his champagne.

Steve wastes no time at all in sliding one thick arm around Bucky’s waist and tugging him closer with his broad palm. His cheeks are tinged pink when he leans down to nuzzle his nose against Bucky’s in a surprising show of intimacy in a public place.

“Hi, Buck,” he breathes, and when their eyes meet they’re so close that Steve looks adorably cross-eyed.

Bucky leans in close to Steve’s ear, sees as much as feels him shiver at the contact. “You wanna get out of here?”

The look that Steve gives him when they pull away is heated, and his grip tightens around Bucky’s slim waist.

They make their goodbyes without moving from each other’s sides, Bucky happily being held against Steve’s muscled form as they circle the room one last time, saying thank you and smiling for pictures. God knows what else they do, it’s a blur. This entire day has been a blur, and Bucky is ready to get that perfectly tailored suit off of his groom and  _ ravish  _ him into oblivion.

Steve has a place in Brooklyn—rather,  _ they _ have a place in Brooklyn waiting for them, but it’s not where they’re going tonight.

“Buck, sure this place is nice, but our wedding is special. You’re special—I want you to have the whole experience,” Steve said to him when they were planning. He booked the hotel, didn’t let Bucky see how much it cost, and that was that.

Bucky floats from the car ride to the lobby and up through the hotel, his senses a heady mix of the glittering light of crystal chandeliers, Steve’s warmth, and Steve’s groomed beard brushing against his forehead as he leans against his shoulder in the elevator.

“Here,” Bucky opens his hand as an offering to take the luggage Steve’s got on his shoulder.  He may not be a supersoldier, but he makes sure to do his fair share.

Steve hefts it _ — _ to his other hand where he’s already got the rolling bag _ — _ and folds Bucky’s fingers in with his own.

Bucky laughs, a dazed breath. “That’s not what I— _ mh _ ,” and allows his smiling lips to be pressed to Steve’s just as the elevator slides open.

“Cover your eyes,” Steve says when they reach the end of the hall and stop at the last door. 

Bucky obliges and covers his eyes, hears Steve shuffle with the keycard and bring their bags inside before Steve steps up close and kisses the back of his fingers, a tingling warmth that sends a shiver up Bucky’s spine. 

“Okay, follow me.”

Bucky steps forward as Steve nudges him along, hears the click of the door behind them, and then Steve walks deeper into the room, turns a corner, and when he leans away from Bucky he hears the flick of a light switch. 

Bucky shivers when Steve leans close to his ear again and murmurs, “Open your eyes.”

He’s not quite sure what he was expecting, but he feels his jaw drop as he takes in the room. It’s  _ huge _ , and the corner suite has panoramic windows, creating a live cityscape of the walls. The darkness is speckled with city lights, like stars twinkling just for them.

The bed is massive, topped with a big fluffy white comforter, perfectly stretched over the mattress, and covered in deep red petals. The room is filled with a soft, warm glow and smells like patchouli and tobacco and vanilla.

It’s amazing, it’s gorgeous, but it’s nothing compared to—

“Steve,” Bucky breathes out, turning nimbly in Steve’s embrace and pressing a deep kiss to his lips. “I hope you know,” he continues in a gentle murmur, their lips nearly brushing, “this is amazing, it really is. But all I need, all I ever want, is you.”

They don’t speak for several moments, open mouths pressed closer, closer, not even coming up for air, just getting lost in each other’s lips and breathing and being. Bucky threads his fingers into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck and is hindered by the unfamiliar stiffness of hair gel in Steve’s normally soft, thick strands.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, twining his fingers into the hardened layers. “Let’s get you out of this.”

Steve looks up through his lashes again,  _ ugh _ his adorable eyes

Bucky tugs him into the next room, which turns out to be a deep, dark wood bathroom with accent lights, a deep tub that will easily fit them both, and a shower with a rain setting. Bucky reaches out and trails an open palm against the cool, smooth surface of the counter, a chill tingling up his spine as the cold meets his skin. 

When he turns back around he expects to see Steve halfway out of his suit, but Steve is thoroughly occupied with fondly staring at Bucky’s back, doing his best impression of a golden retriever, eyes big and enamored. 

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, but that’s all he says. He’s in front of his husband _ — _ his  _ husband— _ and as he tips his chin up to smile at him the room suddenly sways and—yup, that’s his knees buckling.

“Whoa, whoa hey. Bucky,” Steve catches him by the arms, pulling him close against his chest. Steve bends down so they’re at eye level, brows drawn up in concern. Bucky wants to poke the furrow in his skin. “Do you need to lie down?”

“No, I’m fine,” Bucky takes a steadying breath, but finds it’s quite agreeable to stay squeezed against Steve’s chest. The pressure is grounding, squeezing him out like a sponge. “It’s...been a long day.”

Thinking back, since the day started Bucky probably spent forty minutes sitting down total, and that was during dinner. There were pictures before the wedding, holding every possible pose around and outside the American Museum of Natural History. (Yes, the ceremony was in the planetarium, Bucky just got married in a  _ planetarium _ , he’s such a  _ nerd,  _ his husband is  _ out of this world _ . How is this his real life?) There were paparazzi on the street outside of his wedding venue, gods and heroes holding up their drinks to toast them at the reception dinner. He danced with Steve, then Becca, then Steve again, and then a solid hour is a blur of smiling, laughing faces and body heat and so much champagne. And now his feet hurt, the worst ache he’s ever felt through the designer socks and dress shoes. Maybe Steve will bridal carry him around the hotel suite for the rest of the evening.

That thought is immediately countered by the insistent hunger Bucky has felt since locking eyes with Steve across the aisle and the sudden tears that prickled at the corners of his vision when it all suddenly felt real. He’s got one of a pair of matching rings with his former celebrity crush and idol, now the love of his life. The painful ache in his feet creeping up his calves better get with the program. He just married the former  _ Captain America _ , and he’s going to make the absolute most of their wedding night.

“Would you believe me if I said I was tired too?” Steve chuckles, pulling his arms back just enough to rub circles around Bucky’s back that make him nearly start to purr. Bucky feels the warm, gentle press of his husband’s lips on his forehead and feels the adrenaline of the day seep out of him a little more.

“We’re married,” Bucky says, and it comes out softer than he meant it, full of wonder. “Oh my god, we’re married.”

As soon as the words are out, like the last air in a balloon, he slumps bodily against Steve’s broad form, his body melting against Steve’s. It’s nice to close his eyes and just breathe him in. God, he’s tired. They took so many photos. There were so many photographers. Why did they have so many photographers? Why did he drink four to seven glasses of champagne?

Behind his heavy lids everything shifts, gravity disappearing for a moment, and then his head is cradled against the juncture of Steve’s shoulder and neck, and Bucky peers out just enough to see that Steve’s walking them over to the shower. 

Steve sets him down just outside the shower and bends down to catch his lips, humming softly, pleased at the contact. Bucky is lightheaded, from exhaustion or kissing, he’s not sure. Steve loves to kiss—he always has—Bucky found out quickly enough. He’s been kissed goodbye, kissed hello, kissed “I miss you,” kissed “let’s go to bed,” and kissed “I want to be reminded that you’re near.” Bucky’s been kissed to distraction when he’s trying to cook breakfast in their kitchen, kissed to pieces in the shower, even on occasion kissed brazenly at the end of a press conference in front of officials and the prying press. 

Not that there have been many press conferences since Thanos. The world is far more peaceful these days than they were when Bucky was in undergrad, coping with his sister and classmates inexplicably turned to dust and watching the Avengers on the news coverage _ — _ even though the various and ever-multiplying superheroes weren’t calling themselves the Avengers anymore, not technically. He had even had an alert set up on his phone and caught the news whenever it buzzed during the day—a tweet here, a 10 second update clip there. Bucky remembers watching the news coverage, heart accelerating whenever the cameras caught Steve in his dark uniform and Wakandan weaponry. 

These kisses, now, are simple. Steve says one thing with each press of lips, insistent and hungry and sweet.  _ Mine _ .

Time disappears in their shared breath, Steve’s left hand cradling his head. Bucky brings his own hand up to cover it and sparks with delight when he feels the hard, smooth interruption of Steve’s golden wedding band. 

When Steve has had his fill of Bucky’s lips (though, does he truly ever?), he nudges them to finally slip out of their clothes, piece by piece, quietly undoing ties and slipping gentle fingers around buttons. Steve presses kisses at the dip in Bucky’s throat when he unbuttons his shirt, plants his lips on the curve of each shoulder when he’s removed his suit jacket and shirt. 

Steve drops gracefully to his knees, taking off Bucky’s pants and shoes and socks with deliberate care. When he stands, Bucky leans back just enough to poke one finger into his chest.

“Husband,” he announces, as if there’s no better word in the world. He’s delighted when Steve’s cheeks heat up pink.

“I wanted to drag you to bed as soon as we got here,” Bucky admits when they’re under the welcome hot spray, breaking the easy silence they fell into when they stepped into the expansive shower. It’s practically its own room, and Bucky feels his lids start to sag, muscles begging him sweetly for the relief of stretching out under the king bed across the wall. His fingers are at work shampooing Steve’s hair with thoughtful studiousness, running his fingers along his scalp over and over until he’s sure there is no more hair gel left. He’s grateful—the most recent upgrade on his arm provided improved plates that don’t catch, so he doesn’t worry about tangling Steve’s hair in it. “This night is supposed to be extra special, isn’t it?” The last word gets tugged out in an obscene yawn, shower droplets flicking against his tongue, and Steve offers a noncommittal hum in reply. Bucky smacks his lips and continues. “But I’m fucking exhausted. Is our wedding  _ cockblocking _ me right now? Is that what’s happening?”

Steve laughs, holding his face up to the spray. He holds up the soap and looks to Bucky, who turns to give him access to his back on reflex. 

Steve’s voice is a soothing low scrape against the fog in his brain. “It’s nobody’s night but ours, Buck. We don’t have to do anything we don’t wanna do.” Steve follows up the loofah with gently scratching fingers, and Bucky nearly melts into the slick marble floor.

“But I  _ want _ ,” Bucky sighs mournfully, his body content and boneless as Steve rubs circles of soap along his back. “Want you.”

Steve tugs back Bucky’s hair and plants a wet kiss on the back of his neck, and Bucky sighs. 

You only get one wedding night, and Bucky’s body seems bent on contradicting every horny feeling he’s had for Steve since he saw him this morning adjusting his boutonniere. Just two hours ago he had dragged Steve onto the dance floor, earning himself a heated, stern look and strong hands that gripped at his wrists when Bucky had let his hands wander too far for an event filled with their friends and family and flashing cameras. Now every cell in his body is screaming just to curl up against Steve’s warm girth and drift away. 

Absolutely not. He has a brand new  _ husband _ , god damn it.

Expectations are a funny thing. There was a time when Bucky figured that marriage was completely off the table in those first couple years. The topic was never broached; Bucky was terrified out of his mind considering talking to a national  _ icon _ about marriage. They were so much younger, then. New to each other, new to how their edges shaped together. Sometimes they didn’t communicate quite right. 

_ “What makes you say that, Buck?” Steve asked, two years earlier. He looked at Bucky across their living room with those puppy eyes. “What made you think I don’t want to get married?” Steve stepped closer, bringing Bucky’s focus back.  _

_ Bucky felt the hot unwelcome sting of tears behind his eyelids. “Because you’re...you,” he gestured up and down Steve’s body, unhelpfully. “Marriage is for… I don’t know. Normal people.” _

_ “Buck,” Steve said, voice much lower. “I’ve thought about it, of course I thought about it. I didn’t want to come on too strong with it. Did you think I didn’t...want it? Want you?” _

_ Bucky pressed the back of his hand to his lips, choking on a hiccuped sob, and Steve murmured “Oh, honey,” and reached his arms around him. _

They laughed about it, afterwards. Steve proposed eight months later. 

Bucky recognizes it’s something like the same feeling now, a restlessness just to the left of his spine and tucked inside his ribcage, aching for something. Wanting to feel heat, to let Steve’s brightness devour him. To have the right end to an incredible day. 

Steve’s arms come around him, pressing rough,  _ warm _ cotton around his shoulders. 

“There’s a  _ towel-warmer _ here?” Bucky asks, once again reminding himself not to bother. He may have been able to get Steve to stop leaving his socks around the house, but he has no power over Steve’s single minded mission to spoil him. 

Steve just kisses his shoulder and sinks to his knees for the second time that night, patting down Bucky’s hips, his thighs, carefully around the knob of his ankle.

Bucky leans to accommodate him, watching with quick-blinking eyes. There’s a drop of water in the corner of Steve’s thick eyelashes, and Bucky watches as it flicks onto Steve’s cheek, sliding slowly down his skin. There’s something Bucky had quickly found addictive when they first got together, that invited him in and consumed him—the beauty in Steve’s vulnerability. For all he is to the world, this is Bucky’s and Bucky’s alone. The innermost piece of Steve that only he gets to witness. 

Steve continues his ministrations, often kissing a place after lifting the towel, which is regretfully starting to lose its heat already. He pecks Bucky’s lips before giving himself a far more perfunctory pass from a fresh towel. He steps into Bucky’s space as soon as he finishes, and Bucky relishes the shiver that runs down his spine when Steve’s skin presses against his, heated,  _ like the towels _ he thinks deliriously. Steve cups his chin and delves into a deep kiss, one that makes Bucky start to see stars and sway on his feet, caught up in delicious, wet warmth that feels like it's devouring him. Then Steve bends slightly, and Bucky’s legs are swept up in one strong, smooth movement.

He can feel Steve’s biceps against the sides of his thighs, and doesn’t that send a thrill up his insides? He giggles a little dazedly as Steve carries him from the bathroom to the bedroom.

“You do this to all the boys?” Bucky says, a routine response that Steve barely reacts to anymore, and Bucky ruins the effect of it entirely by rubbing his own nose against the crooked edge of Steve’s anyway. He releases a contented sigh that, regrettably, turns into a prolonged yawn, and Steve chuckles.

“Take a nap with me, Bucky,” Steve says, planting one knee in the mattress and tipping Bucky gently out of his arms and onto his side. The mattress dips and Steve slots around Bucky’s back, until Bucky can feel his breath against the shell of his ear. 

“Steve!” Bucky protests, even as another yawn overtakes him. He tries to scramble to turn around, but Steve’s limbs fold around him, abruptly removing any possibility of moving. “It’s our wedding night!”

Steve tugs the blanket higher around them and squeezes Bucky close. “And I promise I will make you forget your name tonight. After we sleep for a little bit. Can you do that for me, Buck?” He makes his voice purposefully low, and Bucky thinks maybe that’s not fair. 

Bucky wiggles around to see Steve’s face, and Steve loosens his octopus grip just enough to let him do just that. Bucky catches Steve’s mouth with his own, perhaps as a last ditch attempt to get Steve to put his hands in all the right places now, even as he can feel his eyes falling shut against his will.

He darts his tongue around, gently nibbles on Steve’s lower lip, lets a little whine escape his lips, communicating his restlessness, his desire via each place their bodies come into contact. Bucky drags one hand from Steve’s collarbone, across the breadth of his chest, and down, down— 

He makes an agitated, whining sound when Steve catches his hand right at the dip of his hip bone.

“Do I need to hold you down?” Steve growls, low in his ear, and in that moment Bucky knows he’s lost.

It doesn’t stop him from a token protest, wiggling his bare hips against Steve’s, and Steve only sighs and bundles Bucky up in his arms again. 

“Be right here with me, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, pulling back just enough to give Bucky a devastating look with his earnest blue eyes. He threads his fingers in Bucky’s almost-dry hair, tucking it behind his ear, and his response is Pavlovian, a deep breath pulled from his chest that leaves him melted into Steve’s touch.

Steve kisses him softly, then, over and over until Bucky is practically purring, fingers tracing his skull and gliding through his hair, and sending warmth curling through Bucky’s core.

Bucky tries to reopen his eyes to take advantage of the sight of Steve in bed next to him, but his traitor eyelids keep drooping closed. Steve simply pets his hair, his other hand tracing gentle figures across his back.

Bucky doesn’t dream, his mind sated and empty. He’s normally a fidgety sleeper, constantly rearranging his limbs with Steve’s and alternately pressing his back or his chest up against the curl of Steve’s body, but tonight Steve’s touches render him boneless against the expensive sheets. 

He can’t say exactly when he emerges from the depths of sleep, but at some point he resurfaces, lips nibbling at Steve’s chin even before his eyes open. The bed is warm with their bodies and their hair is dry, and the insides of Steve’s thighs are unbearably tender against Bucky’s legs.

Bucky mewls as Steve sits up and hefts Bucky into his lap, and the breath that was waiting in his chest finally releases. 

The clock on the nightstand says it’s an hour that neither of them pay attention to, and Bucky’s got his knees planted on either side of Steve’s hips, dipping into the plush mattress. Steve’s skin glows, a warm honeyed expanse in the lamplight. His face is upturned, eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he maps a trail of kisses across Bucky’s body. He kisses at the juncture of Bucky’s flesh and his prosthetic; across his collarbones, raising goosebumps on Bucky’s skin. He dips his head, trailing lips softly over Bucky’s chest, making Bucky gasp softly when he brushes over his nipples. The firm, large hands gripping Bucky’s waist adjust him, tugging him up straighter, reinforced by the meat of Steve’s thighs under his own, nudging him upwards. 

The motion makes Bucky’s stomach accessible to Steve’s searching mouth, and he plants solid, reverent kisses to Bucky’s abdomen as Bucky murmurs, a pleased little coo. Steve’s hands map out his sides, his ribs, his hips. Bucky looks down, feeling something between awe and contentment as his husband—his  _ husband _ —lavishes love on his body.

The ring is still a strange new weight on his finger, and Bucky catches himself staring at the one on Steve’s hand as he traces his skin.

Steve’s fingers glide tantalizingly slow as he makes small, contented hums. He nips at Bucky’s hip, licks where he had just grazed his teeth. Bucky reaches up and twines his fingers into Steve’s thick, sun lightened hair.

“Steve,” he gasps, earning a distracted “mmh?” from somewhere in the vicinity of his left rib cage.

“I love you,” he says, and it comes out softer than he intended. 

Steve moans so low it’s nearly a growl, digging his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tugging just the right way that makes his mind white out. 

Bucky arches his back, running his hands through his hair before sliding his hands down the sides of his body, off his thighs and onto Steve’s chest. He savors the feel of the soft, unending bed beneath them and the clean smell of Steve mingled with the hotel shampoo. Bucky trails his hands down Steve’s sides, taking in his form.

“You’re so beautiful, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, and brushes Bucky’s nipples with an electrifying, light touch. It’s barely contact at all, but Bucky hums nonetheless, arching his back and pushing his chest out in a shameless plea for more.

Steve’s fingers, so big and yet light and gentle, glide over his skin, over the hard peaks and the goosebumps rising on his pecs. All ten points of contact as Steve runs the pads of his fingers delicately over Bucky’s body and fills Bucky’s mind solely with want. Steve undoes him with every brush of his knuckles over Bucky’s hard, aching nipples. Bucky’s head tips back as he shivers.

“Steve,” Bucky whines at last, when Steve’s palms are cupping his pecs, thumbs rubbing purposefully in unison. “Steve, I need.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” 

His skin is on fire. He feels like he’s made of glass, ready to shatter at the slightest pressure. He can’t even finish the thought. What does he need? 

_ Steve. Steve. Steve.  _

He gasps on nothing as the feathery pressure turns sharp on his exposed, open chest. Steve knows exactly how to touch him without him saying a word.

There are groans and slicks of lube  and a stinging, welcome pleasure from Steve tugging on his hair just as he presses inside him—sinking into him so deep, so heady and sweet. Expressing his love—their love—with every surging kiss and hungry touch.

“Thank you. For taking care of me,” Bucky whispers between gasps, and hopes Steve knows he means however long he had spent curled up asleep while Steve petted his hair and touched him gently.

Steve devours him in a searing trail of kisses, from his panting mouth to his exposed jawline and neck. 

Bucky can’t tell at all where his skin ends and Steve’s begins. Perhaps there is no separation—legally, they have joined their lives, assets and responsibilities and all the fine print—but now they're together in every possible way. In a way, it feels like the first time, as Steve’s gaze lingers steadily on Bucky’s and the movements between them intensify.

“Anything for my husband,” Steve murmurs back, and Bucky stares, wide-eyed and laid open and undone, in awe of what he has in this moment, and what they'll have for the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day!  
> I am obnoxiously present on [the bird app](https://twitter.com/sunbardy).


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